Lazarus Come Forth
By RAY BRADBURY
The Morgue Ship had gleaned information from
space that would end the three hundred year war,
knowledge that would defeat the aggressor
Martians—if Brandon could carry it to Earth.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1944.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Logan's way of laughing was bad. "There's a new body up in the air-lock, Brandon. Climb the rungs and have a look."
Logan's eyes had a green shine to them, eager and intent. They were ugly, obscene.
Brandon swore under his breath. This room of the Morgue Ship was crowded with their two personalities. Besides that, there were scores of cold shelves of bodies freezing quietly, and the insistent vibration of the coroner tables, machinery spinning under them. And Logan was like a little machine that never stopped talking.
"Leave me alone." Brandon rose up, tall and thinned by the years, looking as old as a pocked meteor. "Just keep quiet."
Logan sucked his cigarette. "Scared to go upstairs? Scared it might be your son we just picked up?"